As an artist, it goes without saying that I take myriad inspiration from a variety of sources. My thoughts and moments are recorded in sketchbooks, on corners of napkins in restaurants, on post-its stuffed into my pocket, collected on Pinterest and pinned to actual boards in my studio. But lately, it would seem, no source is as all-encompassing, and indeed all lovely, as the wonderful world of Wes Anderson.

Naturally, the films are full of beautiful costuming and luscious wallpaper patterns, and much has been said of the strict but delightful color palettes, compositions, and narrative arcs. But in revisiting his films recently, I've been overcome with a joy so genuine it causes an involuntary smile, even when I'm watching, as I usually am, alone.

It is with this joy in mind that I'm presenting La Vie en Wes, a paper (and sometimes cloth) collection. Faithfully typeset in Futura, it seeks to spread this Mid-Century-styled bliss to you, your letter writing, and your jump-cut, flat-laid daily rituals.

I know I’m not the only person trying to make sense of the past year today.

I know that my efforts to rehash or interpret the simultaneous panicked haste and glacial slowness of the past 365 days will seem trite and contrived by any comparison.

I know that there is no reasonable adjective and no concise term for what this year has been, has meant, has proven.

We truly now know what it is to be fully human, to truly have existed in this time. To be wholly flawed and decimated and demoralized, and to have woken back up anyway. To have looked our neighbor in the eye, ourselves in the mirror, and seen things we never thought we would, and to have to go on anyway. There is no way to rewind from this raw and painful reality we have all found, in each other and in ourselves, and no way to go back to the illusion that our past, present, and future could be separated by the privilege of time served. There is no golden thread to suture this fresh and still-beating truth or to lead us out of this maze we’ve foolishly wandered into. We have seen our whole selves. We have seen the worst we have to offer, with heavy-handed mercilessness.

But we have seen something else, too. In our clamoring desperation, we have seen the truest, purest, most infallible goodness. In a year when everything blared with irreverent audacity, the good was often quiet, and while shock loomed large, the sweetness was often small. But it was always there, in the door held open, the nod of solidarity; the gratitude for each fragment of relief and the resolve to pass that relief on, to lessen the burden of another.

As long as we can cling to that resolve tomorrow, the next day, and throughout the second year of this unprecedented, unknowable wilderness, we will prove that we are not the victims of our own shadows, our own darkest parts. We will prove that we will not succumb to our blistering hatreds and scorched divides. We will be defiantly good.

I know that I have truly felt every fractal in the prism of human emotion. Deep, dejected defeat, chronic bewilderment, days spent in melancholy sonder and moments of pure and rapturous joy, top-heavy burdens and sudden, fleeting relief chased me home to the haven of my bed each night, where I deflated, sometimes fulfilled, often tear-stained, always exhausted.

At midnight, I won’t leave this year behind. But, like a worn-out coat, I’ll take off its burden and hang it beside its predecessors, to look at but never again to touch, and to occasionally find something of value, something I’ve lost, in the pockets.

As you may have read previously on the blog or IG, D and I are hosting a low-key, after-hours inspired Thanksgiving get-together on Thursday. No turkeys to cook, no potatoes to mash, and no awkward conversations to mentally and emotionally prepare for. Just a few good friends and a few slices of pie.

So how do you all-out host(ess) when the very essence of the event is an antidote to what I would argue to be the single most stressful holiday of the calendar year? We've grown so accustomed to the notion that throwing a party is just naturally exhausting, and the host is simply bound by the laws of reason and Murphy to alternate between fits of rage, hair-tearing-out, and melodramatic tears. Being susceptible to dramatic exhales and misdirected rage myself, I'm taking this as a challenge to keep throwing this anti-holiday gathering as comfortable and relaxed as I want my guests to feel come Thanksgiving night.

Devon being a chef takes a nice bit of pressure off. He always has some magical way of coming up with just the right menu just in time, and even when he won't be doing much of the culinary legwork (like this time, since baking is more my forte, I'm proud to say), his literal library of cookbooks that have taken up residence in our dining room provide the support and inspiration I need. Most of my inspiration is coming from Tartine, designed exquisitely by Chronicle Books. A little brittle here, some maple there, and I already feel more relaxed.

Decor will consist mostly of white pillar and taper candles, the latter DIY'd into some of our favorite collected wine bottles from the past year (this is also an incredible gift idea and I'll link the project here soon!). A pine garland runner, a bouquet of dried flowers, and persimmons as placecard holders will set the still-autumn-but-quickly-becoming-winter aesthetic, and a collection of randomly assembled cake stands and platters will display the sweets right there on the table. To be honest, I'm not planning to set the table until Thursday morning, but it looks incredible in my mind.

Color palettes and gift ideas on the brain this morning as I gear up for three holiday gatherings over 4 days.

I'm in the mode, not only of preparing to hostess, but of preparing for all the ancillary, last-minute details that come with doing so. Outfit, for example. Not just something that looks good, but that is comfortable in a utilitarian sense. What shoes am I wearing, and will they allow me to spring into action, refill a glass, or clean up a spill without blistering? Speaking of spills, do I mind if I spill on the outfit? Is is irreparably delicate? Do I need an outfit on deck just in case some catastrophic explosion of food does take place? A post exclusively on this coming soon, but in the meantime, know I'm mulling it over, perhaps with more intensity than necessary.

Stay tuned for hostess gifts inspo, party favor ideas, and thank you strategies. That's what the Monday before the holidays are in full swing are for.

Between Thanksgiving brunch, our Just Desserts party, and our upcoming Cookie Swap { more to come }, I'm taking every opportunity I can get to do some serious trial baking. This morning's maple cinnamon scones were a perfect chance. Full disclosure, I'm still perfecting the non-mix technique that is the cornerstone of scone making { it just seems so counterintuitive and I can't help myself! } but these came through beautifully, all things considered.

Paired with the floral stylings of Harney + Sons Paris Earl Grey tea and the inspirational tome that is You're Invited from Gestalten, this morning is looking both gorgeously causal and productively relaxed.

Warm tones and cool tunes on the brain this morning, preparing for every aspect of Thanksgiving hostessing. Even though we sent out invitations this year {top left}, I can’t believe it’s that time again!

We love hosting holidays, but somehow, Thanksgiving always seems to sneak up on us. With all the prep + pressure, we've always felt it was an overwhelming undertaking. This year, we're starting a new tradition, to get all the festivities with none of the pressure. We call it Just Desserts. It is exactly what it sounds like and is meant to be just as simple: After the raucous of Thanksgiving dinners, we've invited some of our closest friends to congregate at our home for sweets, warm beverages, and low-pressure laughs. In our experience, a limited menu, a small guest list, and a relaxed timeline is the recipe for an easy, memorable night. Fingers crossed that proves true again!

{ a note on invites }

The invitation I designed for our soiree was inspired by a Wes Anderson palette and the luster of Mid Century advertising.

After waking up with a sweet tooth and scrambling (no pun intended) for some inspiration, my eyes fell to the butcher's block, where a cake stand held three apple cinnamon muffins holding out from the batch I'd made early in the week. Not quite stale, but too far gone to satisfy on their own, I recalled the French notion of pain perdu [ lost bread ]. Traditionally prepared as what we Americans know as French toast, I needed to co-opt the concept into something a bit more muffin-friendly, or that bread would be lost indeed.

Enter the English, with their bread cream and their eggs, their raisins and their 350 [ degree ] oven, and 30 minutes to perfection. And there before us, before we'd barely rubbed the sleep from our eyes, was Bread Pudding, my muffins revived and our sweet tooth sated.

Vogue's November '17 issue is chock full of bright palettes and brilliant patterns, and somehow, amidst all the fabulously 70's-glam beauty and the persimmon brocades, #DGPALERMO's ad captured my eye with the decadent clutch. Complete with a bedazzled padlock the likes of which our tweenaged selves could only dream, this bag is capturing my mood this week perfectly with this cheeky motto.